Before It Begins
by CourtVincent
Summary: "As hard as an angel stuck on earth for millennia tried not to, there would always be a few special people throughout the centuries that would manage to capture their heart." I had a dream that Aziraphale lost his human lover. This is what became of it.


If you were to ask the angel Aziraphale if he'd ever been in love, he would give you the obvious answer; that angels love all beings. What he would choose to withhold however, is that yes, he had been in love. Many times.

As hard as an angel (or demon for that matter) stuck on earth for Millennia tried not to, there would always be a few special people that would manage to capture their hearts.

It was always gut wrenching when the person would pass away, as humans inevitably do, but it was always so much worse when life hardly had the chance to be lived. When love seemed to end before it even had the chance to really begin.

For Aziraphale, that reality always hit exceptionally hard, no matter how he tried to prepare himself for it.

* * *

The sign at the front of the bookshop was flipped to closed as rain pelted the ground outside. The angel sat in his favorite chair, the weight of the daily newspaper sitting heavy in his hands. His eyes had been glued to one particular article for the last several hours; the article that reported the death of painter Albert Williamson.

Soft tears made their way down the angel's cheeks as he gently traced the blurry image of Albert with his fingertips. He had just seen him the evening before, and couldn't believe that such a tragedy had befallen in such a short amount of time. The painter had been robbed at gunpoint, and Aziraphale couldn't help but blame himself for not being there to guard him.

The jingle of the front bell pulled him from his thoughts, and he swiftly wiped the tears from his cheeks as he looked up to see Crowley walking across the room.

"Oh hello, dear." He said politely, using every ounce of his willpower to force a small smile.

"Hello, angel." Was Crowley's reply. He sat down on the sofa across from Aziraphale's chair, studying the angel as if he would shatter into a million pieces if he looked away. "Are you alright?" He asked quietly, searching the angel's eyes for an answer.

"Of course I am." Aziraphale tutted, carefully folding the pages of paper and setting it on the table beside him. The smile still stayed on his lips, but he could feel himself tremble with the effort to keep it there.

"You can be honest with me, Aziraphale." Crowley leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Albert was a good man."

If Crowley was being honest with himself, he'd been quite jealous of the other man. Of course, now wasn't the time for all that.

Aziraphale's lower lip quivered as he tore his eyes away from Crowley's and down to the floor. "That he was." He said softly, his voice so light that Crowley almost didn't hear it. "He was a lovely man and..." he took a deep, stuttering breath. "And I loved him."

Crowley moved in the blink of an eye as the angel's posture crumbled. He had Aziraphale wrapped in his arms in an instant, holding him tight and whispering comforting nonsense into his ear.

"I know, angel." He said soothingly, bringing a hand up to scratch gently through Aziraphale's hair. "It's not fair how short their lives are."

"But he was so young!" Aziraphale protested, a sob escaping his throat. "He was barely thirty. We still had so much time!" He buried his face in Crowley's shoulder for a few moments before raising his head again. "I could have saved him." He tried to reason. "I could have healed him if I had just been there."

"Aziraphale, you can't be with someone every second of every day." The demon argued, making Aziraphale meet his eyes. "There is nothing you could have done, angel. Bad things happen and humans die. It's just something we immortals have to live with."

Aziraphale shoved his face back into Crowley's neck as sobs continued to escape him. The demon just continued to comfort him, talking to him gently over the next couple of hours.

When it seemed like Aziraphale had no more tears left to cry, he finally pulled away from Crowley's grasp. His eyes were raw and sore, and he could hardly even breath through his nose. "I'm so sorry, dear." He apologized, soothing out Crowley's shirt as he tried to compose himself again.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I just want you to be alright." Crowley reached out and moved a loose curl away from the angel's forehead, and Aziraphale finally gave a smile that seemed to have a hint of realness to it.

"I will be." He said honestly, truly appreciating what Crowley was doing for him.

Crowley only smiled in return, pleased to see that the angel was doing at least a bit better.

"I'm going to make us some tea." Aziraphale chimed, forcing himself to sound more cheery than he really felt.

"Sounds good, angel." Crowley replied warmly, watching as Aziraphale hurriedly made his way to the kitchen.

He waited until he knew the angel was occupied before reaching forward and picking up the neatly folded newspaper. He carefully opened it up, skimming his eyes over the article under Albert's photo. The man that had killed him had been apprehended just a few blocks away from the crime scene. Crowley locked the suspect's name into his mind, intending on paying him a visit once he was finished with his tea. The man had caused pain to the one being he loved most in the world, and now there would be hell to pay.


End file.
